After a while of silence, Joel texted: Am I that hard to flirt with?
#underpressure was her reply. She had no idea why she was using hashtags but they just seemed to come out.
Extra challenge, Joel replied. You must flirt only in hashtags.
She laughed. Okay, here goes: #Yourenicerthanmypancakes.
Oh God, it was pathetic.
#thankyouthat’sveryniceofyou
Joel’s hashtag had un-hashtagged at the point of the apostrophe, so she said: #iappreciateyourgoodgrammarbuthashtagsdontlikeapostrophes
He replied with a hashtag and a laughing emoticon together.
So she replied: #didyoujusthashtaglaughatme?
#yes
The corners of Olivia’s lips turned upwards in a smile as their flirting triggered feelings she wasn’t sure how to handle. She texted him back with a hashtag and a kiss emoticon.
#didyoujusthashtagkissme? he asked.
#yes
#youresocute
She couldn’t contain her smile. Especially when he sent another text with a hashtag and two kiss emoticons.
#didyoujusthashtagkissmetwice? she asked.
#yes, he replied, and then her heart hashtag-fluttered at what he added next: #andthatwasntpretend
Chapter 24
Joel was glad tonight was his last class. Because he didn’t know how much longer he could stand in front of that class and not walk straight up to Olivia and grab her, wrap her in his arms, and #hashtagkissherforreal. After tonight, though, he would only be in town another week or so before travelling further south. But the more he thought about her, the more he wanted to stay put, and that scared the life out of him.
‘As you can see,’ he said, pointing out some examples of memoir excerpts on the screen, ‘the ending can be just as important as the beginning. Don’t skimp on it. Don’t rush it. And don’t leave readers hanging. It’s okay to create a taste of there being more to come, but you need a resolution. The reader wants to know how everything turned out, at least for now, even though life goes on.’
And his ending had really only been a beginning, as they often were. To him, the ending of a good memoir, his especially, was more of a transition point. A time of reassessment, and consolidating all that had been learned and experienced prior to that moment, so that the next phase of life could be established and begun. No stopping, always moving forward.
‘What if you don’t yet know how it ends?’ asked Mr Donovan.
‘Good question. And the answer is simple: write about how you don’t know how it will end. Write about where you are at now, and what brought you to that moment. If there is a story or journey that led you to where you currently are, then that is your book. And the ending is simply a summary of where you now are compared to where you were. A memoir needs a before and after. People want to read about a transformation of some kind … if there isn’t one, there is no story.’
Some of his students nodded.
‘And in many cases, I guess that transformation only continues,’ Zac said.
‘Indeed,’ Joel replied. ‘It’s an ongoing process, especially in your case. But there are always points along the way that mark various levels of growth and transformation, and those are the beginnings and endings of the many smaller stories that make up the overall journey of your life.’
Zac took some notes. And Joel glanced at Olivia, whose head was down as she wrote notes too. He loved the way her hair fell over her shoulders, and he wanted to stand behind her and gently gather it in his hands and lift it back behind her shoulders and …
Stop.
He had to say that to himself sometimes. Like he’d had to say that to himself during his time in the wilderness, when his mind had become doubtful and desperate. He’d had to create a transition point then, to put an end to the downward spiral of negative thoughts and the possibility he wouldn’t make it out alive. Only then could he continue his mantra of ‘one more breath’. But now, his ‘stop’ was to stop an upward spiral, one of heightening attraction and curiosity to know and discover more and more about this woman in much closer ways than he had before. He did not want there to be an ending with her, and in order for that to happen, he could not create a beginning. Yes they’d begun a friendship, a unique and special one, but anything more and it would inevitably lead to an ending, and he wouldn’t do that to her, or to himself.
‘To end tonight, I want to share with you a video compilation of my journey, and I want to encourage you, if you fancy yourself a bit of a movie maker, to create a video of your own using pictures or video clips that are part of your story, words from your memoir, and music. Do it before finishing your book if you like, to inspire you and remind you of the bigger picture. It can also be a great thing to show at your book launch.’
Joel pressed play, sat, and took a breath. No matter how many times he’d seen these pictures, and heard the music, it always triggered deep emotions in him. He wouldn’t let that show to the class, but later tonight, he would probably have a beer and acknowledge again to himself how far he had come.
Some of the photos that were featured in his book appeared on screen, along with some others from his childhood, his teenage years, and his many adventures and life experiences. Then there were the ones taken of him after being rescued, in hospital, and during his recovery when he’d had to rebuild his torn muscle and work to get it back to or at least close to the other leg’s strength, to make sure he could walk easily throughout the rest of his life without needing a cane down the track. The idea of that spurred him on during his rehabilitation. No way was he allowing that to be an option.
The video faded to black, and he stood. Dylan clapped and stood. Maribella dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, and Olivia rested a hand under her chin, her eyes looking deeply affected and that only made him want to wrap her in his arms even more. Joel put out his hand as though to signal that there was no need for clapping, but that only seemed to spur the class on, and then everyone was standing and clapping.
‘Joel Foster, what a marvellous experience your course has been, thank you,’ Mr Donovan said. ‘I think it will take me quite a while to write all of my book, but I wouldn’t know where to start or how to go about it if it wasn’t for your help.’
Joel’s sense of accomplishment after a challenge or adventure rose inside. Teaching these classes was a different kind of challenge, but just as rewarding, he was discovering.
‘I agree,’ said Maribella. ‘I have a way to go, but I have a plan now, a structure. I’m so excited to create my book.’
‘And I’m almost finished,’ said Dylan. ‘Can’t wait for you to read it, bro.’
‘Can’t wait either,’ Joel said. ‘Thanks guys, really, it’s been an absolute pleasure teaching you. And I look forward to our graduation dinner on Thursday night.’
‘Do we have to wear black capes and do we get fancy rolled-up diplomas secured with red wax seals?’ asked Mr Donovan.
‘Not at all. Unless you really want to,’ Joel replied.
‘Not particularly, black is not my colour,’ Mr Donovan said with a wink.
He had booked Bayside for a buffet dinner for both his Tuesday and Wednesday classes as a casual celebration for the group, and a way for students to network a bit more and make friends without the time pressure of sticking to a class time. It would also be nice to see Olivia again, and hopefully, this week, she would not cancel their Friday lunch so they could enjoy one last meal together before her camping trip, and before he left the following week.
He shook hands, exchanged a few hugs, and the students left the hall with smiles on their faces. Joel exhaled a breath of relief. When he’d first had the idea for teaching courses, he wasn’t sure if he would be any good at it, just like when he’d had the idea for the book and he didn’t know how he’d be able to write it with his less-than-perfect attention span and past dyslexia. But he was always up for a challenge, and that’s what kept him enjoying his life.
‘Will I be seein
g you on Friday for lunch, Olivia?’ he asked, as she exited the building.
‘Miss our last Friday lunch? Never.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll be there.’
He smiled back. ‘Glad to hear it. And you can even have your boring chicken salad if you really want.’
‘Oh, can I now? You mean you’re giving me a choice this time?’
‘We always have choices,’ he said, but he wasn’t sure what subject he was referring to. He was lucky in that he did have choices, options, and opportunities. He wasn’t stuck behind a desk or job he hated from Monday to Friday; he had variety. And he had choices when it came to his personal life. He’d just always chosen the easiest option. ‘I’m glad you chose to do this course.’
She gave a nod. ‘I’m glad you coerced me into it.’
‘Coerced? I’m starting to think I’m a bit of an arse, telling you what to eat, coercing you into my course, making you do these book-worthy challenges …’ He laughed.
‘You are an arse.’ She shrugged as if it was obvious. ‘A nice arse.’
‘I have a nice arse?’
‘No, I mean you’re a nice arse! Don’t go putting words in my mouth.’ Her cheeks brightened.
‘Now I’m forcing words into your mouth. I really am a right ol’ arse.’
‘Can we stop saying arse now and can I say something else?’
‘Of course, but extra points if your sentence has arse in it.’ He chuckled.
‘Smart-arse,’ she said. Then stepped closer. ‘Seriously, I just want to say thanks for everything. I’m glad I did the course. I’m glad I … met you. And I’m glad you’ve helped me break through my discomfort zone a little.’ Her body swayed cutely, as though she was younger than her thirty-something years.
He was glad of all those things too. Maybe even gladder than her. Despite her relatively simply and predictable life, he had never met anyone quite like her, and she stood out to him, even though it seemed she had always tried to blend in. ‘A little?’ he said. ‘I’d say it was a lot. And there’s still the camping trip to go. Do you have all the clothing and supplies I recommended?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And I’m relying on you to bring the tent and camping stuff, otherwise I’ll have nowhere to sleep and I’ll be cold and I will just go home.’
‘Ah, you can’t back out of your last book-worthy moment. Camping is the grand finale. Once you’re there, you stay until it’s time to go home.’
‘I know, I know,’ she mumbled. ‘And you’re sure I’ll get enough phone reception where I’ll be? I do need to be on call for either Mia or my grandma at all times.’
‘You bet. I’ve picked a great spot for you. You might even enjoy yourself.’
‘I’ll be glad when it’s all over and done with,’ she said with a nervous smile.
He shifted his weight to one foot and placed his hands in his pockets. Over and done with. Soon he would be over and done with things here. Why did that make him feel discomfort? ‘I’ll miss our lunches and crazy experiences,’ he blurted without thinking.
She stood still on the sidewalk outside the hall, her eyes looking into his. ‘Strangely enough, I think I will too.’ She smiled. ‘What I mean is, it’s like I can’t imagine going back to the way things were before you arrived. Like I’ve stepped into a new world and the only direction is north.’
‘Then keep following that compass,’ he said.
‘I will. Figuratively speaking, since I don’t have a compass. Oh, will I need a compass when I go camping?’
Joel chuckled. ‘You can use a compass app on your phone. But no, you won’t need one unless you plan to trek for hours or days like I’ve done in the past.’
‘No thank you.’
‘And I hope you’re not bringing your laptop, no work allowed while camping.’
‘Nope. But I can bring a book to read, right? That’s kind of work because of my job, but it’s mostly fun.’
He smiled. ‘Is reading as fun as the things you’ve done over the past few weeks?’
‘Reading is always fun,’ she said, crossing her arms. ‘Those things I did were a different kind of … dare I say it … fun. Ouch.’
‘So you did enjoy yourself!’
‘Mostly after the experience.’
He gave her arm a squeeze. ‘You’re more fun than you give yourself credit for, Miss Chevalier.’
‘You bring it out in me.’
‘You bring out the bringing out of it in you in me.’
Laughter burst from her mouth, and then from his. ‘I was going to say I’ll miss our texting too, but … maybe we can sort of keep in touch. If you want.’ She did that swaying thing again.
It would be easier to keep in touch once he was on the road, no temptation to drive right over and see her immediately. It was safer. ‘Sure. We’re friends, and we’ll keep in touch. And you’re the most fun texter I’ve ever known. And you brought out more texting in me than I ever thought possible.’
‘You brought out the bringing out of it in you in me.’
They laughed again, and then she was closer than he’d expected, her arms slipping around his back. ‘Thank you,’ she said again, resting her head against his chest as they hugged.
He allowed his chest to soften, his lungs to exhale, to welcome her body next to his right there and then. He captured the moment like he had many others when he thought they could be his last. One more breath, he thought to himself, before he allowed himself to release from her embrace.
Chapter 25
After Olivia had come home from work on Friday and finished packing for her camping trip, dropped Mia off at her mother’s for the weekend, and double-checked with Marcus that all was in order to run the store while she was gone, she drove to the nursing home. She wanted some time alone with her grandma before she left, to check she was okay, and to see if she had anything more to add to the story about William and Jacques. It had seemed a bittersweet ending … the end of her romance with William, but the beginning of a slow and steady love with Jacques.
‘How is everything?’ Olivia asked the nurse who was beside the bed.
‘My favourite patient is doing well,’ she replied.
‘She calls everyone her favourite,’ Mrs May responded.
‘Because everyone is,’ she replied.
Mrs May scoffed. ‘I’m sure that annoying nuisance two rooms down from me is not your favourite.’
‘Shh,’ the nurse said, covering her lips with her finger. ‘I’ll leave you both to it.’ She left the room and Olivia sat on the chair.
‘Oh, these days are all blending into each other,’ Mrs May said. ‘What day is it?’
‘Friday,’ said Olivia. ‘I’m going camping tomorrow, can you believe it?’
‘Hardly. But you’ll have to tell me all about it next week.’
‘I will,’ she said. But discomfort twinged inside because there was never any certainty of tomorrows or next weeks or next months. ‘The book is coming along nicely,’ she added. ‘Can’t wait till it’s finished, I’m thinking probably another month or so.’
‘Fabulous, dear. I’m so proud of you.’ She gave her granddaughter’s hand a weak squeeze.
‘And I was wondering, with all the letters William sent you, did you ever give him one in return?’ Olivia asked.
‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘Did I not say that last time?’
Olivia shook her head and leaned forward, but not before pressing record on her phone.
‘Three or four weeks after Jacques’ fall, when he was recuperating at home, I wrote William a letter.’
‘But how did you get it to him?’
‘I didn’t, my dear. But I needed to write it nonetheless. The idea for the letter came about when I realised something …’
* * *
May’s Memories, of one last letter …
I had finished reading Jacques a book of poetry as he lay reclined, his plastered leg raised, and closed the book with a pop.
‘That is not the way one should cl
ose such a special book,’ he said.
‘Oh?’ I asked. ‘Well I am terribly sorry. May I open it and close it again for you?’ I smiled, demurely of course, but with a hint of cheekiness. William had brought that out in me, and despite what had happened, some of his essence remained with me. I opened the book, then asked, ‘How should such a book be closed?’
‘Slowly. With a light, reverent touch.’ He modelled the correct way by closing his palms together.
I raised my eyebrows to the challenge, then closed the book slowly, in a light reverent way. It made only a small sound, not a pop, not a thud, not a snap. But a sound I could not think of a word to describe it with. There was no other sound like it, it was the sound of beauty being recognised, of perfection, of completeness. And I never closed another book with a pop again. Books were magic that could be carried from room to room, from house to house, from town to town, from person to person. They deserved respect and tenderness.
During Jacques’ recovery, we became closer. Friends, but with a hint of something more being possible. I didn’t expect that, didn’t even know if I wanted that. But it grew, ever so slowly, unlike the whirlwind that was William who spun into and out of my life. I knew, when I closed that book lightly, that something was different. The ache I had for William had dissolved. And if I had gone with him, I wouldn’t be having this sweet, somehow comforting experience with Jacques. It wasn’t the intense romance that I’d had with William, but it felt nice, and I looked forward to reading to Jacques each day and giving him company throughout his boredom and pain.
I never knew if I believed in fate, but I started to believe that Jacques’ fall was no accident, and that it happened to ensure that I would stay. So I decided to honour that and stick through it, make it work, build a life with Jacques. After all, I had been attracted to him at first, ever since we exchanged smiles through the window of his father’s tailor’s shop.
But first, I needed to let William go. I didn’t know if I would ever see him again, if he would return one day, or I’d bump into him somewhere down the track, but I couldn’t hold out hope. So I had to cut ties. And I did this the only way I knew how, by how it all began. With a simple letter …
Memories of May Page 20